


The Laws By Which We Abide

by greygerbil



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: The Prince wants Florence De Sardet to get married and already has a bride in mind. Florence is unhappy, but soon distracted by his cousin's reaction.
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay/Male De Sardet
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84
Collections: Happy Greedfall





	The Laws By Which We Abide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



Florence closed the door of his uncle’s study, careful to keep his face blank. The walls had ears in the palace, and, less metaphorically, the coin guards stationed outside the oak-wood doors would at times snap up pieces of conversations, with or without intending to, which then got carried down to the coin tavern at the end of their shifts. It was best not to give them the opportunity to also know Florence’s reaction to his uncle’s offer, should they have chanced to hear it. A couple of the young woman’s relatives were at court, after all.

As he came to a crossroad of hallways, Florence halted his steps. He had half a mind to go to the stables, jump on the back of a horse and flee the city to race along the beach until it tapered out into wild, uninhabited country, allowing the rushing wind in his face to blow away the multitude of thoughts spinning in his skull. But there were bandits out on the country roads and Florence liked to consider himself a sensible man. With a noiseless sigh, he turned to walk to his room instead.

When he opened the door to his chambers, he was greeted by a rush of footsteps and a voice: “Cousin!”

Florence looked up from the tips of his black leather boots in surprise. Constantin stood right before him, brimming with nervous energy.

“What are you doing here?” Florence asked, gently urging Constantin a step back so he had room to close the door behind himself.

“My father told me what he wanted to discuss with you, but he would not allow me to stay,” Constantin said, frustration thick in his voice.

With a nod, Florence fell down on the soft couch under the wide windows and took a deep breath. It was good he didn’t have to explain it to Constantin, at least.

“What do you think?” Constantin asked, sitting by his side, hands captured between his own knees as if he wanted to force them to remain steady.

“I don’t know,” Florence said truthfully. “From what I hear, Ysabeau Charbonnet is a good woman – a little ambitious, maybe. We used to play together sometimes, do you remember? She was a decent duellist with a wooden sword. We liked her when we were children and she’s always been pleasant when I met her later.”

“Yes,” Constantin murmured, sounding as if the memories did not bring him pleasure.

“I suppose she would make a fitting wife for a nobleman,” Florence added.

But Ysabeau and him had met often enough over the years, danced at balls, gossiped through boring theatre plays and speeches. If there were a spark between them, Florence was sure it would have lit by now. Moreover, he had never felt like she was particularly drawn to him, either.

Then again, what did it matter? These sorts of marriages weren’t meant to create enduring affection.

“You won’t agree to it, will you?” Constantin asked, baffled.

“I don’t know that, either,” Florence answered with a frown. “I wouldn’t if it meant I wouldn’t have to marry, but if it is not Ysabeau, it will be somebody else. At least I know her family likes to be at court,” he added, after a brief moment of contemplation. “I wouldn’t have to move away from you.”

This, he had to admit, was perhaps his greatest fear when it came to marriage – to be forced to live in a whole different town or even country from his cousin. They had grown up together, living in each other’s pockets since they were boys. Of course, for any future wife of his it might be a smart move to separate them because Florence’s tender regard for his cousin would always mean his first concern was for Constantin; but selfishly, he did not wish it to happen.

“Yes, they like to curry favour like my dear mother,” Constantin muttered. “I don’t know if those are the right sort of people for you.”

“Do you have a problem with Ysabeau?” Florence asked, glancing at Constantin.

He opened his mouth and closed it, then turned away with a shrug. “No. She’s no different than most nobles, I suppose. Probably, as you say, you could do a lot worse and my father won’t hesitate to force your hand if you defy him too often. I would know.” His gaze lowered as he made himself smile. “I am just worried for you, my dear cousin. I want to see you happily married, not playing a charade like so many here.”

Gently, Florence clasped his arm.

“I will manage. We always knew it would come to this. Besides, it’s not decided yet.”

“Yes,” Constantin said, staring over his shoulder out of the window into the darkening sky for a moment before he got abruptly to his feet. “I still have something do this evening. I will see you tomorrow.”

-

The next morning, Florence was on his way to meet Kurt for practice when, on the walkway on the other side of the courtyard, he saw Constantin shambling in the vague direction of his chambers. His hair was a tangled mess and though Florence could not make out his face in the distance, his head lolled between his shoulders in a way that suggested he was half-asleep. Florence felt a brief pang of worry. Constantin had a habit of answering decisions of his father that he did not approve of with behaviour that the Prince would not approve of. There’d certainly be a discussion to be had this afternoon in the Prince’s study that would leave Constantin even angrier than before.

However, Constantin rejected Florence’s attempts to stop this spiral he had watched unravel so often. He would only laugh at him, the sound obviously forced, and tell Florence he was out to have fun and that he should come with him if he was concerned and forget about his own troubles, too. In the quick deflection more than anything, Florence could see that the hurt was deep this time. He understood; if Constantin had been pawned off for a favourable alliance, which was no doubt also in their future, Florence would have been just as unhappy and he did not look forward to this match, either. Still, was there a sensible way out of it? A rejection would only make the Prince move on to the next woman in line in due time.

The morning after the third night that Florence hadn’t found Constantin in his room when he came looking in the evening, Kurt stopped him in the courtyard when he reached for the training weapons.

“No time for practice. Friend just told me your cousin stranded in the coin guard brothel,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Come, Green Blood, we’ll get him before his father learns of it.”

“At least he’s less likely to get mugged there than at another place,” Florence answered with a sigh, “since the Prince pays the coin guard to protect his family.”

As Kurt’s contact had promised, Constantin was dead asleep in a corner of the brothel, a dark room filled with stifling hot air, where a few workers had piled some shimmering silk pillows around him. He could hardly be roused even with Florence’s best efforts, though before he sank back into a drunken stupor after briefly opening his eyes, he smiled very genuinely at him with dazed recognition. It soothed somewhat the ache of knowing that Constantin had been in the arms of another here who had taken gold for a job that Florence would have loved to do for free.

With Kurt’s help, each of them taking one of Constantin’s arms over their shoulders, Florence dragged Constantin back to the palace and into his bed.

“What’s up with all of this?” Kurt asked, as Florence tugged Constantin’s boots off his feet. “It’s not usually this bad even with him.”

“I will talk to him,” Florence said simply. It hadn’t won him much this far, but he would just have to nail Constantin down before he stumbled drunk to the pier and drowned in the harbour or was picked up by less savoury types than some amused courtesans.

“See that you do it soon before the Prince has him locked up,” Kurt noted, shaking his head as he turned away.

Florence pulled the blanket up to Constantin’s chin.

-

It was the late afternoon when Florence made once more for his cousin’s chambers, figuring that enough time had passed for Constantin to have slept through his inebriation, but that it wasn’t quite late enough that Constantin would have snuck off to the taverns again. They were still rather empty while the sun was in the sky and Florence knew Constantin to love the bustle of company more than drink itself, though he obviously indulged in the later, too.

However, Florence had not to walk so far because Constantin met him halfway. His beloved cousin still looked somewhat ravaged, with pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, but at least the contrite gaze he cast at Florence seemed much more alert and he had changed into fresh clothes and brushed his hair.

“My dear cousin,” Constantin said, “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Then let’s head back to my room,” Florence offered.

Constantin burst out with his apology before they had quite reached it, as if it had bubbled up without his permission. “I am deeply sorry that you saw me like that!” he said plaintively, as Florence unlocked the door.

“It’s not like it’s the first time that you fell asleep somewhere you shouldn’t have at the end of a long night,” Florence answered, trying to put Constantin at ease with his playful tone.

Constantin chuckled weakly. “It was the first time I ended up passed out in a brothel, though,” he muttered. “Maybe if I keep bringing dishonour on the family, your wedding will fall through, what do you think?”

“I think your father would flay us both, you for the act and me for not standing in your way,” Florence said with a grin as he pulled the door shut behind them. “Did you at least have fun?” he asked, carefully extracting all caustic jealousy from his voice to leave only the teasing.

“No,” Constantin admitted, running a hand through his blond strands. “The man I wanted was busy and I fell asleep waiting.”

“You have a favourite there? I had no idea.”

Shock allowed the disapproval to bleed cold through his voice. It was easy to explain away the occasional playmate that found themselves in Constantin’s arms when he was drunk and not picky, but there was a decidedly different taste to the idea that Constantin was eagerly seeking out someone specific.

“It’s not because I prefer a paid man. I had not – I had only thought of hiring him so far, anyway,” Constantin said quickly, apparently taking Florence’s annoyance for a moral complaint.

“He must be a special person to have gained your attention.”

Florence had not fully finished his last word when he was thrown with his back against the door. A hand planted itself next to his face and then Constantin’s lips were on his, still bitter with the sting of alcohol. Frozen with surprise as he was, Florence only stood there as Constantin’s tongue pushed against his closed mouth and then withdrew.

“He looks like you,” Constantin said, shaking voice wracked with regret, as he stumbled a step back. “That’s all, but-”

Before he could apologise, Florence grasped his wrist with a sudden surge of wild courage and pulled him in again, kissing him back. Constantin staggered for a moment, falling into him, before he caught himself on the door and kissed Florence hard, as if he was trying to steal the breath from his throat, seal their lips forever. Florence’s fingers dug into the back of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of fabric.

The bed was at the other end of the room, but that seemed to be miles away now as Constantin tore at Florence’s clothes, pawed his belt, cradled his head, grabbed his thighs, his touch greedy but so erratic that it never rested long enough anywhere to get work done. Florence smiled as he applied himself to the buttons and laces of both their clothes while Constantin mouthed against his neck, sucking and biting marks into his skin that Florence would have to hide under high collars and scarves.

Florence had felt the uncomfortable pressure of the fabric of his own trousers from when Constantin first put his mouth to his throat, but it did not surprise him to find Constantin already hard, too. The energy that was discharged between them now, like lightning from thick black storm clouds, had been long in the making, he knew with sudden clarity.

Constantin moaned his name as Florence took them both in his fist, placing his hands to both sides of Florence’s head. There was very little grace or skill in the way they went at each other, with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, Constantin thrusting quickly into his palm, forcing him against the door with his weight. For a moment, Florence imagined those thrusts fucking into him instead and spent himself as Constantin tore open his half-parted shirt and pressed his mouth to Florence’s chest. Constantin only managed a few more moments himself before he came into his hand.

They stood out of breath, embracing. Florence pressed his face into Constantin’s hair and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head before he finally freed himself, wiping their seed on his already ruined shirt. With his clean hand, he took Constantin’s and led him to the bed where they sat down. Constantin dragged his thumb over the back of Florence’s hand.

“Don’t marry Ysabeau,” he said, after a long while.

Florence gave a sad smile.

“And then what?” he asked. “There will be new offers. Your father won’t let me reject them all.”

“My father says he will send me to Teer Fradee soon. He won’t deprive me of your company there, I know that.”

“What will stop him from sending noble women to marry us?”

Constantin cocked his head.

“I will marry you there.”

Florence had to laugh, though he wished suddenly that Constantin could, that the only thing barring their union were that an alliance between the two of them would have been redundant for political games.

“I would marry you,” he said, to make sure Constantin knew it was not the idea that he found ridiculous. “But you know well the laws of this land don’t allow that.”

“So? We won’t be in this land anymore and as the governor, I can make my own laws. What do the rules of them mean to us in a country where people apparently fight monsters as big as houses? We can adopt our heirs and start our own house – the d’Orsays of Teer Fradee.” He laughed. From his slightly desperate tone, Florence knew that Constantin was aware of how unreasonable his plans were, but there was a wild enthusiasm to them, the sort that had carried Constantin through so many strange ideas that shouldn’t have worked. “Or better yet, let us strip that name altogether. I will become your consort and join your house! Our line will henceforth be of the De Sardets.”

“Yes, how hard could it be to flaunt all rules of our home country?” Florence said, though the brightness of Constantin’s smile almost made him hope. “You’d only have to build a new world for us there.”

“Watch me,” Constantin answered, squeezing Florence’s hand tightly.


End file.
